


The Sky is Falling

by Mithrakana



Series: The Sky is Falling [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Not Canon Compliant, Vignette, solasmance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 19:52:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5468855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithrakana/pseuds/Mithrakana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When her people cast her skyward, young Rue took the name Cadash before she ever joined the Carta. </p><p>On meeting her, The Dread Wolf roils in memories for days. The Dwarves of Cad'halash, the clan that gave his beaten people hope when he could not. He can see their faces in the endless gloom, and he can hear them dying for the sanctity of freedom over coin. </p><p>Solas judges Rue a fool, as he is wont to do, for taking such an honored name so carelessly.</p><p>The lullaby is meant for Cole's ears, not for his. Still, when Solas overhears Rue sing <i>Now Mourn We Cad'halash</i> in flawless Elvish, his scorn is overcome with curiosity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dread Wolf's Problematic Fave

“The Deep Roads swallow legions whole.”

In this sunless world where living nightmares reign in lieu of time, it seems their first exchange in days. The Herald’s words are not foreboding, not despairing, merely fact. Solas, startled from his thoughts, seeks his sole companion’s face beyond the smokeless flame that heats their haven. His eyes find hers, and this is very rare. He finds she glows here, miles beneath the sky.

“You’ve seen it?” Rue asks as she stares at him, unknowable and strange. Her normally clean-shaven pate is fuzzy brown with these relentless weeks of drudgery. Jagged scars and casteless markings tug at the corner of his eye, the way they always have. For all the secrets he’s inclined to keep, The Dread Wolf often wonders.

“Yes, Inquisitor. I have.”

She nods at him, just once. She calls it good, and once again falls silent. They exchange no idle comforts, no false hope for the friends they seek to save. In this, as in all things, the ancient elf is most surprised to find this casteless dwarf a likeminded companion.


	2. To Sing and Smile Too Big with Golden Teeth

The Dusters have a saying: _Worth your womb in gold._

One glance from Piotin was all it took to make my mother sing. She knew his moods, and she alone could soothe him. She always smiled too big; Piotin took pride in mother’s golden teeth.

He took no pride in me. When Piotin Aeducan saw the gash between my legs, he left the midwife’s chamber in a childish rage. The casks he’d tapped to celebrate, he drank alone in mourning. It would not be long before he touched my mother’s swell and spoke of pride again.

No one taught my little brother how to dance _“like molten iron.”_   No one capped _his_ teeth with golden foil or whipped his shins for speaking out of turn.

My name is Rue, and I refused to sing and smile too big with golden teeth.


End file.
